The Hand Of Fu-Manchu eBook

Outraged emotion overcame me utterly, and with my
arms thrown across the box, I slipped into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER IX

FU-MANCHU

Many poignant recollections are mine, more of them
bitter than sweet; but no one of them all can compare
with the memory of that moment of my awakening.

Weymouth was supporting me, and my throat still tingled
from the effects of the brandy which he had forced
between my teeth from his flask. My heart was
beating irregularly; my mind yet partly inert.
With something compound of horror and hope I lay staring
at one who was anxiously bending over the Inspector’s
shoulder, watching me.

It was Nayland Smith.

A whole hour of silence seemed to pass, ere speech
became possible; then—­

“Smith!” I whispered, “are you ...”

Smith grasped my outstretched, questing hand, grasped
it firmly, warmly; and I saw his gray eyes to be dim
in the light of the several lanterns around us.

“Am I alive?” he said. “Dear
old Petrie! Thanks to you, I am not only alive,
but free!”

My head was buzzing like a hive of bees, but I managed,
aided by Weymouth, to struggle to my feet. Muffled
sounds of shouting and scuffling reached me.
Two men in the uniform of the Thames Police were carrying
a limp body in at the low doorway communicating with
the infernal Joy-Shop.

“It’s Fletcher,” said Weymouth,
noting the anxiety expressed in my face. “His
missing lady friend has given him a nasty wound, but
he’ll pull round all right.”

My eyes, throughout, were turned upon Smith, for his
presence there, still seemed to me miraculous.

“Smith,” I said, “for Heaven’s
sake enlighten me! I never doubted that you were
...”

“In the wooden chest!” concluded Smith
grimly, “Look!”

He pointed to something that lay behind me. I
turned, and saw the box which had occasioned me such
anguish. The top had been wrenched off and the
contents exposed to view. It was filled with a
variety of gold ornaments, cups, vases, silks, and
barbaric brocaded raiment; it might well have contained
the loot of a cathedral. Inspector Weymouth laughed
gruffly at my surprise.

“What is it?” I asked, in a voice of amazement.

“It’s the treasure of the Si-Fan, I presume,”
rapped Smith. “Where it has come from and
where it was going to, it must be my immediate business
to ascertain.”

“Then you ...”

“I was lying, bound and gagged, upon one of
the upper shelves in the opium-den! I heard you
and Fletcher arrive. I saw you pass through later
with that she-devil who drove the cab to-day ...”

“Then the cab ...”

“The windows were fastened, unopenable, and
some anaesthetic was injected into the interior through
a tube—­that speaking-tube. I know
nothing further, except that our plans must have leaked
out in some mysterious fashion. Petrie, my suspicions
point to high quarters. The Si-Fan score thus
far, for unless the search now in progress brings
it to light, we must conclude that they have the brass
coffer.”